


Stuck on You

by La_Temperanza



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza
Summary: “...What,” Yuuri says and opens one pensive eye to look. From his point of view, it’s upside down, so it takes him a half-second to realize Viktor has affixed a sticker to his shirt. Not just any sticker, but one that has a stylized doodle of Viktor giving a thumbs up with the words ‘Good job on showing up!’ written in an obnoxious bubbly purple font underneath.Yuuri thinks it’s the most patronizing thing he’s seen in his life.(Or the one where Viktor praises Yuuri with stickers, Yuuri is his usual overthinking ball of nerves, but it all works out in the end.)





	Stuck on You

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *sees [this post](https://www.facebook.com/introvertdoodles/photos/a.1696061250666287.1073741827.1696051280667284/1717734538498958/?type=3&theater)* Oh, I want crack fic where Viktor gives Yuuri stickers!  
> Me: *instead writes fluff fic with bad puns, ANGST and ANXIETY, probably incorrect skating references, weird humor, and italic abuse*  
> Me:  
> Me:  
> Me:  
> Me: WELP.
> 
> In all seriousness though, this is my first YOI fic and my first fic in over a year, so please excuse me as I get back on the saddle. ~~Nice to see my habit of using cheesy titles remains intact though.~~
> 
> (Also, there is a mention of a sex scene at the end that you kind of have to squint through a magnifying glass to see in my opinion. Nothing explicit or detailed, but if there's a consensus to raise the rating because of it, please let me know?)
> 
> EDIT: I almost forgot, but thank you to my lovely beta [fictionary!](http://fictionary.livejournal.com/)! <3

Katsuki Yuuri is well aware of the many, _many_ regrettable decisions he’s made in his life.

Like the time he had tried to impress Yuuko, back when they were kids, by attempting a difficult jump way too early in his training, only to wind up with a bruised tailbone and yet another reason to be teased by Takeshi. Or when he agreed to attend a charity polar bear plunge with Phichit during the middle of Detroit’s winter and barely escaped with his bits and pieces intact. And of course, when he thought the best way to respond to his devastating performance at Sochi would be to get totally blitzed on champagne at the banquet afterwards and commit multiple embarrassing, indecent acts, including but not limited to dry-humping Viktor- _freaking_ -Nikiforov™.

Can’t forget that last one. Except, oh wait, he already _did_. Thank goodness for small miracles, he supposes.

The point is, he has a habit of making mistakes, all right? And while being late to his first day of practice in St. Petersburg would hardly be considered his worst blunder, being late to his first day of practice in St. Petersburg when his coach is aforementioned Viktor Nikiforov ranks pretty high up there.

He’d like to say it’s not entirely his fault. After all, he’s still getting used to the new city he’s now calling home and the language barrier isn’t helping. Using Google Translate only works up to a point and whipping out his phone at every street corner puts a major drain on the battery.

But that excuse can only stretch so far before it bottoms out. Because Viktor has been nothing but a perfect host, patient as always while Yuuri becomes acclimated to the move. Yesterday, he guided Yuuri right to the front doors of the ice rink from his apartment--Yuuri can’t think of it as 'their apartment', not yet, not when the implications mean something he’s not willing to admit at this time--and even when he was leaving earlier this morning for his own practice with Yakov he had asked if Yuuri wanted to come tag along. Yuuri had smiled and just shook his head, insisting that Viktor go on without him and that he would be fine. Although he could never get enough of the sight of Viktor on the ice, the last thing Yuuri wanted was to be a distraction to Viktor on the cusp of the man’s comeback to the world of competition.

(What he did _want_ was a few more hours of sleep, because the annoying combination of residual jet lag and time zone differences was, is, and would forever be Yuuri’s weakness. Well, one of his weaknesses, right behind his anxiety while performing, his tendency to binge eat, his constant foot-in-mouth syndrome...you get the idea.)

Not surprisingly, the whole thing backfires on him, and later he’s dashing to the edge of the rink as fast as he can in skates. The clunking of blade guards striking against the ground mimics the beat of the pounding heart in his chest once he sees Viktor is waiting for him.

Viktor beams and waves a hand in the air, completely ignoring the lecture Yakov is in the middle of giving him. No difference there, then. “Yuuri~!”

Honestly, the two of them are engaged--kind of? Sort of? Neither of them has really pressed it further since Barcelona--and Yuuri has yet to figure out Viktor’s moods. This is the man who can deliver deep, cutting, verbal attacks with an angelic smile never leaving his face. 

Wanting to get a few words in edgewise before the eventual tongue-lashing can begin, Yuuri blurts out a forceful, “Sorry, I know I’m late! I should’ve just gone with you when you left, and--”

“Yuuri...”

“--and I shouldn't have gone back to sleep but your bed is too comfortable--what thread count are your sheets anyway? _Oh god_ never mind I don’t want to know; they probably cost more than what Yuu-topia makes in a _year_ and I might have drooled _all over them_ \--”

“Yuuri--”

“--and then trying to find this place again was harder than I thought, even though I know you just showed me, and I didn’t know how to spell it for directions I probably wouldn’t even be able to follow--”

“Yuuri!” Viktor is standing a mere foot in front of him now, his lips twitching in...anger? Amusement? Yuuri doesn’t know. Frankly, he isn’t sure which is worse.

“Sorry,” Yuuri finishes, lamely, wincing when he hears Viktor draw in a deep breath and sigh. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment in Viktor’s eyes, as much as Yuuri knows he deserves it, so he cowardly closes his own.

That is, until he feels Viktor press something to his chest and say, almost proudly, “There~”

“...What,” Yuuri says and opens one pensive eye to look. From his point of view, it’s upside down, so it takes him a half-second to realize Viktor has affixed a sticker to his shirt. Not just any sticker, but one that has a stylized doodle of Viktor giving a thumbs up with the words ‘Good job on showing up!’ written in an obnoxious bubbly purple font underneath.

Yuuri thinks it’s the most patronizing thing he’s seen in his life.

“What,” he repeats, because no other words are coming to him. Well, besides the additional 'the' and 'fuck.' But he’s a good, polite boy who refuses to let his poor parents back in Japan worry about what sort of crude language he’s picked up while abroad.

Viktor takes his relative silence as a signal to press on. “Okay, so now that you're here, why don’t you get warmed up first and then we can go over a few of your jumps…” He trails off, probably because Yuuri is openly gaping at him, mouth flapping like a fish struggling to breathe on dry land. “Yuuri?”

This...this has to be some sort of prank, right? Some weird Russian hazing ritual that Yuuri’s never heard of, even though he thought he’s learned everything he can on skating customs and traditions thanks to being just a wee bit obsessed with Viktor from a young age. “Vi-Viktor, what is…,” he starts, glad he’s now able to form other words at least. “What is this?”

“Mm?” Viktor frowns and tilts his head to the side, like he has the right to be confused. “It’s a sticker. Don’t you have those where you come from?”

That’s such a ridiculous question, considering Yuuri comes from the land where adorable stationery products are almost a fine art in and of themselves. “I know what it _is_ ,” he huffs, “but _why_?”

“Ah! Consider it extra encouragement~” Viktor says, his tone matter-of-fact and pleased as punch.

Yuuri now realizes that some of their rink mates have drawn closer to eavesdrop on the conversation. He hears a snort from behind--no doubt Yurio--and his face flushes red in a 'want-to-crawl-in-a-hole-and-die' level of embarrassment. Because apparently, Viktor’s method of encouragement is the same one young children are given as a treat for good grades or completing chores. As if there aren’t enough times where Yuuri doesn’t feel immature and wrong footed when he’s around Viktor.

“Oh,” he says, because anything else would unleash the panic dwelling inside that he’s not willing to let out so soon, even if everyone there (unfortunately) already knows all about it. “Okay.”

*

Except, later, Viktor does it to him _again_.

Yuuri has been attacking the jumps in his program with earnest, wanting to prove to Viktor’s comrades that their star athlete wasn’t stolen away from them for nearly a year in vain. But he’s in classic Yuuri form today, overthinking every little detail, and he flubs his entire routine. An over-rotation here, a hand on the ice there, and just flat out falling more times than he’s willing to count. Viktor’s disapproval is radiating from the sidelines and Yuuri can practically hear the lecture about having too many things on his mind now. But instead, Viktor is quiet, watching, waiting, the same supportive smile plastered on his face, albeit a bit strained.

A dark part of Yuuri twists angrily inside his belly with the need to shout, to laugh, to cruelly sneer and ask Viktor, _’Well, what did you expect?’_ Because yes, Yuuri received silver at the Grand Prix Final and barely missed gold by a fraction of points. But he had silver at the Cup of China too, only to barely squeak by to the next level after Rostelecom. This proves how easily he can stumble two steps back, off the winner’s podium, once he gets inside his own head and gets trapped there.

Plus now, he’s not just going to be coached by Viktor, he’s going to be competing against him as well. If Yuuri does win at their next competition, people will talk--because they always _talk_ \--and say that as a coach, Viktor was too torn from his own personal career, his worth as a professional skater tainted. If Viktor wins, then his capability as a coach will be criticized and torn apart even further than it already has been in the past. It might finally be enough to get him to leave, to write Yuuri off as a hopeless case; talented enough but unable and unwilling to grasp his full potential.

_‘How much longer are you going to stay in warm-up mode?’_

Yuuri squashes that thought down, refusing to let it fester any further. After all, it's been well established that he's the more selfish one out of the two. Any of his failures from this point on will be shouldered on by Viktor as his own at coaching, and Yuuri can't accept that, not when Viktor’s the main reason he's made it this far.

It feels like Yuuri is teetering on the sharpened edge of an ice blade; any day now he's going to slip and fall and split himself right in two.

He isn't sure how long he continues to practice, but it must be hours because he looks up to see that they’re the only two left on the ice. The daylight that was filtering through the windows earlier has been replaced with the haze of a reddish dusk, the glow of street lamps signaling the stirrings of St. Petersburg’s nightlife. He hears Viktor trying to wrap it up and call it a day, but Yuuri shakes his head stubbornly.

(Ignoring his coach’s orders; wonder where he gets that from, eh, _Vitya_?)

Yuuri is determined to do this, even if it kills him, and if he pushes himself too much it very much might. With Viktor’s reprimands echoing faintly in his ear, Yuuri gets himself into the familiar position for the combination jump, inhales, doing this for Viktor, for _himself_ , and--

Nails it. Perfectly, even, despite the fact that his infamous stamina has been drained awhile ago.

Yuuri blinks and then thrusts his fists upwards in triumph. It's nothing close to the thrill of doing it in competition, but after the day he's had, he’ll take any little success he can get.

“Viktor!” he shouts, skating to the rink exit with his arms outspread in anticipation. “How was that?”

If Viktor has been upset at him for not listening before, he doesn’t show it. He gathers Yuuri into the embrace that’s quickly become standard between them. “Good job, Yuuri~” he says softly, his breath ghosting against Yuuri’s ear. “That was fantastic.”

Yuuri beams. He’ll never get enough of Viktor’s praise, stowing it away as another lock to keep the beasts of self-doubt at bay. _Viktor thought it was fantastic...he thinks my skating is fantastic…_

He continues to cling to Viktor like a lifeline; outside the skating rink, he doesn’t know how to ask for Viktor’s touch, as greedy as he is for it. It’s almost like he gets drunk off of it, feeling bolder than he ever could from the help of alcohol.

When Viktor draws back, Yuuri flushes at the needy sound that escapes him. Viktor doesn’t comment on it, meaning he must’ve not noticed, which brings Yuuri little relief. Instead, Viktor digs through the pockets of his coat before pulling something out and handing it over. “Here~”

Yuuri wonders what’s so important to interrupt valuable hugging time and glances down at Viktor’s open hand.

Another sticker. This time it’s one of Makkachin with the horrible pun of ‘Bow Wow-nderful!’, and it is cute (he can’t deny that), but…

 _Clink, clink, clink_. There go the beasts, straining at their chains and snapping the locks Yuuri has worked so hard to secure.

“Is this some sort of joke?” He asks slowly, surprised at how calm his tone is when he’s anything but. “Is it supposed to be funny?”

The way Viktor’s eyes widen in shock would have been comical any other time. Except Viktor looks like he did in the parking garage back at Cup of China and Yuuri _hates_ it. Hates making Viktor feel unsure about their relationship, unsure about him.

“No, that’s not--”

“Then why?!” And there goes the pitch of Yuuri’s voice, sounding reedy and pathetic. “Why are you teasing me?!”

The silence that follows hurts more than anything else. It gives Yuuri’s brain ample opportunity to imagine Viktor’s response, each possible scenario pushing him closer and closer to self-destruction.

What he doesn’t expect is for Viktor to pull him in tight, arms wrapped around Yuuri like a life preserver on a drowning man.

“...I’m sorry,” Viktor says finally, the timbre of his voice vibrating against Yuuri’s shoulder. “I was reading different things about anxiety and I thought...Ah, never mind. It really was a stupid idea, wasn’t it?”

Yuuri gasps, and then screws his eyes shut. It’s too much, much too much. He wonders if there will ever be a day where this man fails to surprise him.

Viktor has been reading. Viktor has been trying.

No, that’s not fair. Others have tried too; his parents, his sister, the Nishigoris, Minako-sensei, his friends. Even his former coach Celestino had done his best, for which Yuuri will forever be grateful. But the way he had encouraged Yuuri to pick himself back up after Sochi was to tell him not to worry about it. And funnily enough, telling someone who constantly worries not to worry works about as well as you would suspect.

This is different though, because Viktor is trying to _understand_.

And, Yuuri suddenly realizes with growing dread, he’s thrown it right back in Viktor’s face.

Distantly he can hear Viktor is still speaking and Yuuri manages to catch the last bit: “--and I won’t do it anymore.”

“No, no, no that’s not it!” Yuuri shakes his head so fast he’s going to get whiplash. He can’t look Viktor completely in the eyes, not wanting to see the guilt there when Viktor has done nothing wrong. It’s just Yuuri’s insecurities playing havoc yet again. “I thought...,” he starts, wringing his hands together because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. Viktor’s arms are still circled around his neck, though their grip is a little looser, and their comfortable weight on his shoulders is what encourages Yuuri to continue. “...I thought you were making fun of me.”

Viktor looks scandalized. “I would never!”

Yuuri rolls his eyes and bites back a shaky laugh. Seriously, Viktor’s grasp on his memory--or lack thereof--is incredible. “You called me ‘piggy’ when you first came to Hasetsu and refused to let me on the ice until I lost the weight, remember?”

“Hmm,” Viktor hums thoughtfully and then shrugs. “I’d like to think I was inspiring you to return to your competing weight but I can see your point. I thought this would be a better alternative, though we can come up with something else if you’d like?”

“No, I...I like the stickers,” Yuuri admits.

Because when he thinks about it, the mental image of Viktor Nikiforov, five-time world championship winner and skating legend, designing stickers that would make a preteen squeal in delight is...actually kind of adorable.

*

It’s still ridiculous, though. He’s ridiculous, Viktor’s ridiculous, they’re _both_ ridiculous--Yurio oh so helpfully barks that last one at them constantly--and yet…

...it turns out Yuuri has come to look forward to receiving stickers.

After Yuuri’s emotional outburst, Viktor hadn’t given any more for a little while, making Yuuri worry he’s really messed up his chance. But then one day he lands a difficult jump combination that even gives Viktor difficulty every now and then, in front of everyone. A few of his rink mates stop and clap, but most just stare in disbelief, and Yuuri preens. _That’s right_ , he thinks, _look what I can do for Viktor that no one else can_.

Viktor’s opinion is the only one that matters to him now. He skates for his family and friends, and himself of course. But being considered worthy enough to be on the same ice as Viktor is the most important thing in the world to him.

When Yuuri exits the rink, Viktor is already there, grabbing him off the ice and into his arms. When they finally pull apart (regretfully, because Viktor’s hugs really are the best), Viktor gushes, “Wow, that was incredible, Yuuri!” And then takes the sticker he must’ve had in preparation and places it over Yuuri’s heart, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.

Yuuri smiles brightly, unable to stop the joy from bubbling over his face.

More stickers follow after that, and if Yuuri can finish practice with at least four or five stuck to him, he considers the day a success.

Soon, Viktor starts rewarding him outside the rink too. Like when Yuuri places his order in slow, halting Russian at the small, cozy cafe near Vik--no, _their_ apartment (see, Yuuri, knew you could do it eventually), Viktor waits until the waitress leaves to reach across the table and take Yuuri’s trembling hand. His thumb strokes once, twice, and then there’s a sticker on the inside of Yuuri’s palm. The act, plus the pride shining in the softness of Viktor’s expression, makes Yuuri blush all the way up to his ears. But he loves it, almost as much as he loves Viktor himself.

Almost.

Eventually Yuuri begins to collect them in a notebook, marking down the date and the reason behind them. It’s embarrassing as hell, but also helpful in a way. Because Yuuri knows he has made major strides and has many accomplishments under his belt; it's no fluke that he's Japan’s top male figure skater after all. But it’s so easy to forget that when the walls of panic threaten to crash around him, so the book serves as a solid reminder of everything he’s done right, to cement him to reality before he floats away.

(Even if it’s for something as simple as not mangling the pronunciation of ‘borsch’ too badly.)

He makes the mistake of leaving it unguarded during one practice and returns to find Viktor reading it. For a brief second Yuuri hates its existence; it’s like his entire heart has been opened up and displayed on those pages. And while he wants to share that with Viktor so much it aches at times, he’s still so scared.

The book closes with an audible snap, interrupting Yuuri’s inner freakout, and Viktor hands it over with a flourish. But when Yuuri reaches for it, numb, he’s suddenly being tugged forward, the fall of his temple cushioned by Viktor’s plush lips.

“I’m so proud of you,” Viktor murmurs, chasing Yuuri’s fears back to the shadows of his mind where they belong.

Later, when they’re back in the apartment and Yuuri is safe from making a scene in public, he opens the book and discovers a new sticker has been added with the date written next to it in Viktor’s elegant scrawl. It’s a painted image of himself in his free skate outfit, eyes turned upwards. It’s not quite as ethereal as Yurio’s Agape, but he still looks calm, serene, _beautiful_ , and Yuuri finally understands that this must be how Viktor sees him.

He looks up with tears in his eyes and catches Viktor’s gaze from across the room. Viktor doesn’t say anything--doesn’t need to--and instead gives Yuuri one of those quiet, knowing smiles reserved only for him.

*

It doesn’t take long for their fellow rink mates to latch on and join in on the act. At first Yuuri isn’t too keen on others encroaching on something that’s been between just him and Viktor. But he doesn’t want to nip the budding friendships he’s been cultivating over the past weeks before they blossom either.

Mila’s stickers are shaped like hearts and kisses, and she peppers them all over Yuuri as such. It’s like she uses any excuse she can to stick them to his cheeks, fawning and cooing every time. He begins to understand why Yurio tends to run the other direction whenever he spots her.

The fairytale theme of Georgi’s stickers comes as a surprise to no one. The man waxes poetically on and on about Yuuri’s 'magical transformation' and the power of Viktor’s 'true love.' Yuuri nods repeatedly, forcing a polite smile to his face while secretly pleading for Viktor’s rescue. But Viktor just seems to find the whole situation amusing, the traitor.

Yakov, of course, calls them all foolish for it. But honestly, he hasn’t had a single good thing to say about Viktor’s coaching methods thus far. He really hasn’t exchanged more than a handful of words with Yuuri since the move to St. Petersburg, but Yuuri can’t shake the feeling the older man blames him for Viktor’s attention being split between his professional career and coaching.

A shift occurs when the two of them join forces to press the solitary thing they agree on: Viktor’s return to skating.

“You can’t back out of the Europeans now, Vitya!” Yakov barks in his usual gruff tone. “You’re lucky the ISU is letting you compete after the stunt you’ve pulled! It’s already bad enough that you ended up missing the Russian Nationals to help _him_ \--” here Yuuri sheepishly ducks his head as Yakov jabs a thumb in his general direction “--move from Japan; FFKKR still hasn’t let me hear the last of that one.”

“But _Yakov_ ,” Viktor whines. The sight of his pouting lips sends a flutter of emotion through Yuuri’s chest. “I forgot that Four Continents was scheduled around the same time! I’ve only had a few weeks to prepare anyway, I should just go and cheer Yuuri on instead.”

Before Yakov can protest any more, Yuuri beats him to it. “Yakov’s right, you need to go,” he says with an easy confidence. Not in himself, no, but in Viktor’s abilities. “You’ve kept people waiting long enough. I know you’re ready.”

Both Viktor and Yakov stare at him so strangely that Yuuri resists the panicked urge to avert his gaze. But if he displays any form of uncertainty now, there’s no way he can convince Viktor to listen.

“Go.” He places a hand on Viktor’s forearm and squeezes it to reassure both Viktor and a little bit of himself as well. “I’ll be fine. This isn’t like Rostelecom; I’m not going to throw away my chance to skate with you at Worlds.”

(If it turns out that at Four Continents Yuuri's definition of ‘fine’ is apparently ‘stave off a panic attack until he wins against his anxiety and other skaters thanks to a rushed emergency Skype call to Viktor during the short time between their respective performances,’ neither of them will mention it.)

Viktor is picking him up and and spinning him around before he even finishes his sentence, and over Viktor’s shoulder Yuuri spots Yakov begrudgingly nod his approval.

That afternoon, while the two of them are on the outside of the rink watching Viktor practice his free program--perfect, like he’s never been away for almost a year--the older coach suddenly mumbles something under his breath and clamps a heavy hand to Yuuri’s shoulder. When he walks away, there’s the most foreboding sticker Yuuri’s ever seen stuck to him, the text entirely in confusing Cyrillic.

Yuuri supposes it’s Yakov’s way of accepting his presence at the rink. That, or Yuuri has just been marked as a future target by the Russian mafia.

(When Yuuri mentions the latter, Viktor laughs and calls him adorable, saying he’s watched way too many movies. But he still refuses to translate what it says. _No, seriously, Viktor, what does it say_ \--)

But as strange as the exchange is, it’s not the weirdest experience he’s had since this whole sticker thing began. That honor belongs to none other than Russia’s own Ice Tiger.

“Oh no, not you too,” Yuuri says, not knowing if he should laugh or groan. Or both.

His rivalry with Yurio is still present, though it’s mellowed thanks in part to Yurio’s gold at Grand Prix and Viktor’s homecoming. Yuuri has noticed the normally disgruntled teenager doesn’t throw as many insults his way anymore, and has actually asked for Yuuri’s advice when trying to incorporate a tricky ballet maneuver into a routine.

(It could just be that Yurio doesn’t want to invoke Lilia’s wrath. Yuuri doesn’t blame him; the woman scares him more than Yakov.)

But Yuuri’s never expected any gratitude in return. Especially not in the form of the sticker Yurio is offering in his outstretched hand: a cartoon lion with a goofy smile, the words ‘You’re awesome and I’m not _lion_!’ printed in glittery red.

It even has googly eyes. Yuuri takes it and gives it an experimental shake to emphasize how bizarre his life has become.

“Tch.” Yurio turns his head away, and is Yuuri imagining things, or is there a hint of a blush there on the younger skater’s nose? “Don’t read too much into it. If some stupid stickers are what it takes for you to stay on the ice so I can beat your butt again, then--”

Yuuri envelopes him into a hug, which makes Yurio hiss like the standoffish kitty cat he is. “Oi, I didn’t say you could touch me! Get off-- _Viktor! Come grab your precious Katsudon already!_ ”

But he doesn’t bother to squirm out of Yuuri’s grasp.

At least for one whole minute, anyway.

*

As it turns out, stickers in fact can’t solve everything.

If they could, Yuuri would have premium stock in Lisa Frank by now. But their tacky adhesive just isn’t enough to glue him back together after he’s already ripped himself apart like this.

It’s the first night of Worlds, and Yuuri has showcased exactly how much he’s grown as a skater in the Short Program. He’s even earned a personal best, currently putting him in second place, right behind Yurio. The multitude of stickers he received from Viktor and the others after his score was announced are still stuck to his tracksuit jacket.

However, Viktor is in third. _Third_. Viktor had just laughed and admitted he’s probably a little rustier than he thought. But already the guilt of being the cause of that has settled uncomfortably in the pit of Yuuri’s belly, weighing him down.

He’s sitting in the middle of his hotel bed, the comforter wrapped around his shoulders like a safety net. His face is pressed against his bent knees, glasses askew. The room is dark. The only light is coming from the windows looking out to the busy city below, and Yuuri prefers it that way. The darkness is forgiving, hiding the fears playing across his pale face and red-rimmed eyes.

Viktor has been in the shower for a few minutes now, and Yuuri hopes that gives him enough time to collect himself. He doesn’t want to add any more stress to his coach’s plate.

Yuuri wants to win gold. He always has, even before he met Viktor, though he had never admitted it out loud back then. He's already had a taste of it, having topped the podium at Four Continents despite the absence of a coach. But this is different; now he wants Viktor to win too, to prove to the world that he’s still the skating god that Yuuri considers him to be. On top of that, he’s also cheering for Yurio, because the teen has done so much to get this far at such a young age.

Yuuri is being torn in every which way and he doesn’t know what to do. What he _should_ do.

He hears the water turn off and the bathroom door click open, a waft of steam rolling into the room. There’s the sound of Viktor humming to some classical piece he’s been playing on repeat recently as he rummages the clothes hanging in the room’s tiny closet. If Yuuri turns his head, he knows he’d catch a glimpse of a towel ruffling through Viktor’s damp hair, another one hung low around his hips.

(Yuuri has secretly watched rivulets of water travel down Viktor’s bare torso more times than he’ll ever admit.)

He can sense the moment Viktor notices the Yuuri-shaped lump on the bed and braces himself for what he knows is coming next.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri responds by drawing the covers in closer to himself. He doesn’t want to ignore Viktor after all the man has done, not after all they’ve been through together. But at the moment he can’t trust himself to not break down the second he opens his mouth.

The edge of the mattress dips down to his right, and then the layers of the cocoon he’s made are carefully pried open. A hand, cold and clammy from the chill of the room, settles on the nape of his neck, the solid weight an anchor of comfort.

“It’s okay,” Viktor says with a calm assurance Yuuri envies so much it burns. “You’ll make it up in the free skate and take gold tomorrow, I know it.”

“That’s not--” Yuuri manages to choke out, then stops. It’s part of the reason, yes, but only a sliver of the whole thing. But would Viktor understand? Yuuri can’t imagine Viktor--confident, lovable, _perfect_ Viktor--working himself up over a dilemma like this.

It was so much easier when they were back in Hasetsu, carefree. For a brief moment Yuuri wishes they were back at his family’s onsen, skating at the Ice Castle, soaking in the hot springs, and eating bowls of katsudon. Back when he could forget the outside world existed.

But he knows he can’t remain selfish and steal Viktor away from the light where he belongs. Not again.

(Even though all he wants--what he truly wants with every fiber of his being--is to be with Viktor forever.)

“What is it, then?” Viktor’s fingers have traveled upwards and are moving in slow, soothing circles across Yuuri's scalp. Yuuri instinctively (and shamelessly) leans into the touch. “You can tell me.”

Yuuri knows that. He’s already told Viktor so much, things he’s never allowed himself to tell anyone else. Not even Phichit, and they’re best friends. It’s terrifying to know that the man who was once an unreachable idol now is privy to so much about him; both the good, the bad, and the in-between.

Yet, Viktor is still here, despite it all. Meeting Yuuri where he is, like he has from the beginning.

Yuuri licks his dry lips apprehensively, teeth sinking into the bottom lip mid-swipe. “If I win gold tomorrow--”

“ _When_ you win gold tomorrow,” Viktor corrects, gentle but firm.

“When I win gold tomorrow,” Yuuri concedes, figuring there’s no point in arguing unless he wants the conversation to lose steam early, “what will happen next?”

“What do you mean?” Viktor asks, and then hums thoughtfully. “We’ll celebrate, of course, and invite everyone. Even Yura, no matter how much of a grumpy kitten he’ll be throughout the whole thing--ah, or did you want to wait until we’re back in Hasetsu with your parents?”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Yuuri says. He’s trying not to focus on his heart flip flopping at how considerate Viktor is to want to include his family. He sucks in a deep breath, and on the shaky exhale he gets the crux of the matter out: “Viktor, if I win, that means you can’t.”

“So?”

Yuuri pops his head up, finally looking at Viktor eye-to-eye for the first time. “ _So_?” he repeats. He can’t understand why Viktor is being so nonchalant about this. “Don’t you want to win tomorrow?”

“Of course I do. Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you.” Viktor gives a sly wink that’s worthy of his international heartthrob status. “I’ll only accept silver if you’re the one with gold.”

The corners of Yuuri’s eyes begin to sting and he quickly blinks to clear his blurring vision. “You want me to win that badly?”

Viktor lets out a laugh, a low rumble that envelopes Yuuri in its warmth. “I thought that would’ve been obvious by now, Yuuri~” he teases, all mirth and devoid of any heat. “Considering all the training and encouragement I've given you these past months. But yes,” he adds, his voice quieting, “I want you to win that badly. More than anything.”

“Why?” The question is out of Yuuri’s mouth before he can stop himself and he flinches. He’s not trying to question Viktor’s motives; he’s just never fully understood them.

There’s a slight push of Viktor’s hand so that their foreheads are suddenly pressing together. Viktor’s eyes are so close, so intense, so _blue_. Yuuri feels like he’s being stripped and exposed down to his very soul, but he can’t look away.

“Because I hope it will finally prove to you what I’ve known all along.”

 _’What, that you’re as perfect as a coach as you are a skater?’_ A cruel voice in the back of Yuuri’s mind snaps. But even in his current melancholy mood he knows that’s not fair, to Viktor or himself. Through blood, sweat, and tears, both of them have equally worked so hard to get where they are now.

“What?” he asks instead, though that’s not much better. It just showcases how desperate he is for Viktor’s praise to be spelled out for him.

Viktor’s hand moves forward to cup the side of Yuuri’s face, the pad of a thumb brushing against his cheekbones. “You deserve to be out on that ice as much as anyone else, including myself. I only want to skate if you’re right there with me, inspiring me the whole way.” He pauses, his smile brightening up the room. “Isn’t that worth a gold medal any day?”

The dam of emotions in Yuuri's chest cracks, then breaks with a loud whooshing in his ears, and soon his eyes are overflowing with tears. “...Vi-Viktor...you…”

Belatedly he remembers Viktor's not good with people crying in front of him, but Yuuri hopes he understands the reasoning behind the tears now is anything but negative.

If the way Viktor's features soften is any indication, he does. “Shh,” he whispers as he kisses a few of the tears away. He adds a few more words in the same tone, and although they're Russian that Yuuri has yet to learn, they're said so sweetly that he really doesn't need nor want a translation.

After he completely cries himself out, Yuuri feels drained but in a good way; the blaring of his nerves has faded to barely a buzz underneath his skin, thanks to the cover of slumber now threatening to overtake him. Though he almost starts crying all over again at the tender way Viktor removes his glasses and wipes his face with a cool washcloth that Viktor went and brought back from the bathroom.

They then settle into each other's arms so naturally that Yuuri wonders why he was so hesitant about this. Viktor is repeating those foreign words again, over and over, until Yuuri realizes they must be terms of endearment. He wants to return his own, but he can't wrestle away from the grip sleep has on him. So he mentally promises he’ll make it up to Viktor, somehow, someday.

*

Yuuri wins gold.

While holding his medal aloft for the blinding cameras, he’s resisting the urge to jump for joy while simultaneously trying not to pass out in relief. Physically he’s on the upper most tier of the podium, but it feels like he’s standing on top of the world. If a year ago someone said that he, a relatively unknown skater from an equally unknown seaside town in Japan, would one day be a World Champion like the great Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri would have never believed it. Even if it has always been his wildest dream.

Yurio is to his one side looking like he’s about to shit kittens. It’s to be as expected, since getting bronze is a newer experience for him. Still, there’s small scrap of admiration hidden in his eyes as he glares up towards Yuuri’s direction.

As for Viktor? Well...there’s a silent litany of 'I told you so' and 'I knew you’d win' written plainly on his smug expression whenever Yuuri catches his gaze.

 _He looks good in silver_ , Yuuri thinks. But then again, the man would probably look good in anything. Or nothing at all.

(And whoa, _whoa_ , that is not an appropriate thought process for Yuuri to have right now. At least not in public.

Guess what’s being filed into his 'Viktor Nikiforov private fantasy bank' for later, though?)

After they skate back to the rink exit and Viktor kisses the gold medal in such a way that totally does _not_ make Yuuri squirm in any shape or form, Yuuri holds out a hand, expectant. “Don’t I get another sticker too?”

“Another sticker--” Viktor stops mid-sentence, his eyes growing wider than Yuuri has ever seen. He searches frantically for the non-existent pockets on his performance outfit before his shoulders slump forward. “Ah, Yuuri, sorry, I don’t seem to have one on me but--”

Yuuri laughs and just shuts Viktor up with an open-mouthed kiss, spectators be damned.

(Yuuri’s changed his mind; it’s Viktor’s _kisses_ that really are the best.)

Later, once they’ve completed their exhibition pair skate and made their mandatory appearance at the celebratory banquet--sans champagne overindulgence this time around, thank you very much--they steal away to their shared hotel room. A nervous energy runs through them the entire way, sparking across the closed circuit formed by their hands clasped tight in one another’s.

As soon as they open the door, they waste no time falling into bed. There, nestled in the safety and protection of Viktor’s arms, Yuuri opens up completely to him, in more ways than one. Over and over again, until the morning sun peeking in through the window curtains finds them tangled in the sheets and each other.

And that’s a decision that Yuuri will never regret.

Not now. Not ever.

*

“...What,” Viktor says.

Yuuri would laugh at the role reversal if he wasn’t nervous as hell about it himself. The sticker he’s made has been drawn by hand on a blank mailing label--because he has yet to figure out how Viktor has had stickers professionally designed for him--but Yuuri hopes the uniqueness of it will be enough to win brownie points. Given the way Viktor is staring down at it like it’s the most precious item in the universe, Yuuri guesses he’s right.

There are so many things Yuuri can say. Things he’s said in the past and those he hasn’t managed to express yet. There’s his gratitude towards Viktor for being his coach, his mentor, his friend, his...everything, really. His desire to keep striving for gold as long as it meant they could share the ice longer. His love and adoration for the man that has spun and transformed from fanatical idolization to mutual respect to something so much more.

But nothing seems quite right for the situation.

So instead Yuuri looks down at the sticker, a doodle he sketched of himself saying, ‘You’re the best, coach!’ and says the one thing that seems the most fitting: “Consider it extra encouragement.”

Recognition flares in Viktor’s eyes at hearing his previous words being returned to him, and he responds with a smile that’s as wide and beautiful as Yuuri’s own.

 

 

(Of course, when it turns out Viktor becomes unbearably obnoxious by boasting about the sticker to everyone so much that Yakov threatens to quit no less than five times, Yuuri almost regrets giving it to him.

Almost.)


End file.
